


relive that last mile again (reborn, wild-eyed, free)

by shipwrecks



Category: Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Choking, Edging, Facials, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, What-If, YES ALMOST 12K OF PWP, gratuitous use of siken, just like general filth in and around cars, using smut to peel back the layers of brian o'conner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 05:29:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipwrecks/pseuds/shipwrecks
Summary: Maybe it'd be easier if there wasn't—thisbetween them, atmosphere always thick, respect and animosity alike lingering. Dom was supposed to have just been another mark for Brian, but they're under each other's skin now.





	relive that last mile again (reborn, wild-eyed, free)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flaneuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaneuse/gifts).

> for mariana, who was there when i needed it most and took my hand even as it was already pulling theirs down into the garbage can!! you've truly indulged my eager pervert ass, and i really don't know if this could have been finished without you. ♥♥♥
> 
> this is "a point in each movie brian and dom could have fucked for the first time" so the sections aren't sequential, more vignettes of different possibilities. it may be character-driven overwrought prose, but it's ultimately over 10k of pure filth. oh! and it's all canon-compliant other than dom doesn't crash n burn the charger at the end of 7. the charger is dead! long live the charger!
> 
> idk if there's anything in particular to warn for, but in general, my read on brian is that he's an adrenaline junkie who's pretty cavalier with his life for the sake of having a wild and good time, and that's certainly present throughout. i feel like the movies agree with me on this, but it's not like they're _fast & furious: buckle up cause we're going to therapy to discuss our issues!!_

**prologue.**  
_World-wise, world-weary, and not his mother's favorite,_  
_this Jeff will always win when it all comes down to fisticuffs._  
_Unfortunately for him, it doesn't always all come down to fisticuffs._  
_Jeff is thinking about his brother down the winding road behind him._  
_He is thinking that if only he could cut him open and peel him back_  
_and crawl inside this second skin, then he could_  
_relive that last mile again: reborn, wild-eyed, free._

**i.  
you're in a car with a beautiful boy**

They take the Supra out for the first time and pull up next to a Ferrari, Spilner coolly talking to the driver—a real asshole who looks at their ride and revs his engine like he already knows he can outrun them. That's the thing, though—you never know what's under somebody else's hood.

"Smoke him," is all Dom says, and Brian just turns his head and fixes it on the light. Dom can hear the early purrs of a hovering foot, but when it goes green, he punches down full force and they launch forward—tires screeching, dust kicking up.

They're neck and neck—Spilner focused and flooring it, weaving through traffic with fluid precision—Dom's gotta get a hold of the windshield as they whip around. He looks back to see the Ferrari falling further behind and then he looks over at—_Jesus_—he's got on sunglasses, but Dom knows what's in his eyes. Something that's only there when you're sitting on over three thousand pounds of vibrating power, control in your hands—and you're trying to take it faster. Of course Dom has seen it—has had it in his eyes himself—but Spilner's white-knuckling the wheel and intense like this is for pinks or a shitload of cash or at least respect in the scene, not just some impulsive race against a douchebag with a luxury car he doesn't know how to handle. It's—well, _yeah_, it's hot—of course it is. Dom's always loved something pretty behind the wheel of something going fast, he just didn't think—

Spilner's looking over at him now, with an easy smile like _that was fun_ or _let's do that again_ or even maybe—he's breathing harder, which could just be the aftermath of the ride, but he's still staring at Dom—head turned away from the road. Dom lifts his sunglasses and so does Brian, and he knows _that_ look in his eyes—has had that one too—dark with arousal, spiked adrenaline. Dom feels heat building in himself, knows he's returning the look when Brian pulls off the road.

He puts the Supra in park, engine still running—immediately reclines the seat back and gets his jeans open, gets a grip on himself—_was already starting to get hard, Christ_—like this is absolutely fine and normal. _Get hot when I drive fast, Toretto_—he says, nodding towards Dom's tightening pants—_guess you do too_ with a wicked grin and an uncomplicated shrug, incongruent but certainly inviting. So—_fuck it_—it isn't the first time Dom's jerked off in a car or around his team, for that matter—out of convenience, brotherhood, stupidity—_what's one more time_—ignoring that it doesn't feel like just the car or the race.

Brian looks down as he starts jerking himself, looks right at Dom's dick—_fuckin' shameless_—and actually fucking says _nice_ before turning back towards the ceiling—closes his eyes and Dom can tell he's just feeling the hum of the engine underneath him. Dom chances a look at Brian's—and Dom's not like, _into_ dick or anything, but he's rocking his hips forward to buck into his fist and he's already leaking precome onto his shirt and _fuck, yeah_—this is different—and _God it is hot_—and he's not going to examine that any further. Just keeps stroking and trying to refocus on the engine—Brian's chest rising and falling erratically with his dick in his hand sneaking into his mind, sighing out loud when he can't think about anything else.

"Dom—_Toretto_—" he revises, "you can look at me. _Know you want to._"

"_Jesus_, Spilner," even as he quickly turns his head, Brian laughing and staring right at him, blue eyes piercing. He's pulled his shirt up to get it out of the way, and his abs are flexing, him and the engine shuddering—both of their paces quickening—mouth hanging open, like he could—like he knows what Dom's thinking, just has time to flash a filthy smile at him before he's coming all over his stomach with a groan and a tremor that pulls Dom over—slams back into the headrest and squeezes his eyes shut—not sure if he hears Spilner say _yeah—do it_ or imagines it, doesn't know which is worse.

Brian reaches over him into the glove compartment and pulls out fucking fast food napkins with a cheery look on his face like what just happened either didn't just happen or didn't faze him at all. Passes Dom a few, cleans himself up and pulls his shirt back down, puts the Supra in reverse to get them back on the road.

"Spilner, are you—" and he can't say it, suddenly wishes he hadn't even started asking.

"Nah, man. Just—always do that after a race. Or—usually do, anyway."

Brian genuinely looks like that's all there is to it, so Dom accepts the answer—exhales to push all of it out, decides he doesn't need to think any more on it either.

**ii.  
and he won't tell you that he loves you**

_Damn_, the Evo could let loose—weaving through traffic as the rest of these dumbass drivers who thought they were the shit went down. Swerving one-eighty then flying down the highway fucking backwards, giving Rome the finger—this mission might actually be fun after all. It certainly was now. Races were good, but this was better—getting to drive fast _and_ pull one over on a guy who thought he knew everything, settling into his skin as soon as he started playing a part.

Then Markham showed up at the lot, thinking they were trying to split—because apparently no one in law enforcement knew how fucking crime worked—and almost blew the job before they started it. _Way too hard to do this with the fuckin' cops around_—before he had to remind himself that he _was_ the fuckin' cops, and that's why he was even doing this. Keeps his cool around them all even as Roman's about to pop off—defuses the situation like a bomb tech, and his superiors _finally_ let them go home—even if he knows they're not really _letting_ them go anywhere, at least not without their knowledge. There's only one way they were able to get to them so fast at that lot.

Brian paces in the tiny houseboat—if it can even qualify as pacing—trying to walk off remaining energy from the day's events. It doesn't work. The place is too small and the quick turns are just rewinding him up—already obsessing over how he's going to get the GPS trackers out of the cars so he and Rome can do this their way, laboring over what their way's going to be. He knows what _would_ work—a quick ride to feel the wind in his face—but that—there isn't a way-too-conspicuous unmarked car parked across the street—not _yet_, anyway—but he so much as unlocks the Evo and Markham'll know about it. _Fuck_—he kicks the wall on a roundabout and it cracks under his sneaker. Another scar from these anxious circles of his—Tej is gonna be pissed—_wait_—

It then suddenly occurs to him that he has a key to Tej's—it's not particularly close, but it's technically walkable. Tej would kill him if he found out—but Tej didn't have to find out, Brian would just put anything he borrowed back right where he found it. And besides, once he explains the tracking problem—

Still convincing himself even as he's grabbing the key, he makes his way over to the garage. When he gets there—shirt already stuck to his back from the walk—he rolls through all the keys hanging on the wall, grabs the set for a Stealth—reminded of his recent cross-country drive—when he sees that it's one of the ones parked close to the door. Brian unrolls it, pulls the car out, closes it behind him and finally gets out on the road. He keeps it below the speed limit while driving on the main drag—isn't interested in getting caught tonight—but eventually gets enough out of town where he can open up, his foot lingering on the pedal in anticipation until it hits it hard and he and the Stealth take off.

The wind gusts and there's no rush like it—even on just a ride. Brian's been driving fast long before he was supposed to—that stint in juvie was actually true, made sense for the Spilner cover so they tucked it in alongside his Arizona ID—because as soon as he clutched a wheel, felt what he had underneath his hands, he's been chasing that feeling. _Nothing_ compares—can key you up when you need adrenaline, keep you amped when you need to stay high, cool you down when you need air and space and time. There's nothing a car couldn't do, 'cept maybe fly—and even that—well, Brian's certainly _felt_ like he was flying, at the very best of times, the very best under his hood.

The Stealth's a fine drive—better than fine, even—but alone on the road is just burning his match down—and yeah, that's what he wanted, but it's always a strange feeling—in a car that doesn't have anything to prove. Today, on the freeway, he was goofing off with Rome—his only real competition—but the whole audition thing had spurred him into trying tricks and speed. Same way a race did—for cash or slips or _shit_, even _respect_—echoing endlessly in his head, him proposing such a prize—and there it was. There was Toretto in his head again.

He'd—sure he'd thought of Dom since—well, since the whole thing in LA had gone sideways and ended in Brian handing over the keys to his own damn car. But he didn't _want_ to think of him—did everything he could _not_ to think of him, and for the most part, it worked. Brian could push just about anything down far enough so that only one eye could barely see it, but the audition—the job—just being back in a car and feeling like he had to up his ante—never mind right now, driving a car that wasn't his—_shit_, of course, that was going to bring back Dom. He was the one Brian couldn't beat—the one Brian wanted to beat—he pissed him off, but—maybe that was because he was the one thing a full car length ahead, out of his reach.

Brian presses on the gas further—watches the speedometer tick _up, up, up_—to shake Dom out of his head, would even take trying to formulate a plan for the job again, but no such luck—there was a reason Brian made a pretty concerted effort not to think of Dom. Once he showed up, it was hard to get rid of him—being behind the wheel didn't help either. It's not that a car, any car reminded him of Toretto—but when fate dovetailed the two, they _really_ stuck together. How could they not—Dom himself rumbled through the world like an engine, commanded any place he parked like a souped-up ride, had an affinity for muscle cars that—well, _matched_ him.

_Jesus_—he squeezes his eyes shut and wills—_begs_—his brain not to tug this thread—_again_, a merciless voice in his head reminds him. It's just—Brian knew his fascination with cars bordered on weird—_in that way_, yeah. He loved a sleek body, loved to feel her purr beneath his hands, loved to see what was under the hood—_yes, he's aware of all the jokes_—but—cars were simple to understand, made sense to Brian, excited him. And then Toretto rolled into his life loud like his goddamn Charger, offering up shit about himself so intimate even when Brian had barely been given a spot on the team, always egging him on—like he was trying to make himself simple to understand, like he _wanted_ to make sense to Brian and excite him, and—Brian didn't know how to organize any of it in his brain. So it all melted together and dropped somewhere low in his gut where his brain couldn't touch it anymore.

He's densely still hoping speed can halt this line of thinking—but _no_—Brian's brain may be desperately trying to _not_—but his guts had no problem with it all jumbling—flashes of releasing the NOS on the Eclipse, Dom leaning over a hood shirtless at DT's, flooring it in the Supra over the train tracks—_I live my life a quarter mile at a time_—that last look Dom gave him with the keys in his hand—they're quick and acute and shoot straight to his dick, which—coupled with his current speed, the fact that he's only vaguely paying attention to the road—is starting to get hard. He's feebly aware that he definitely should not jerk off in a car from Tej's garage—a little _more_ than feebly aware that that fact's actually helping—_God_—every layer of this was—but Brian puts a pin in _that_, absolutely does not have time for it, and lets his body take over. He runs the heel of his hand over himself, just to give some early friction, lets out this little breathy noise, before he finally just gets his jeans undone and reaches down them.

Brian strokes his cock—has gotten pretty proficient with his left hand, this not being his first time in a moving car—and he can't stop himself—Dom's been in his head too long now—and if he wasn't going to pick it apart, it was going to trickle down and pool in him low, gather heat, and bring him to the edge. His big hands gripping the wheel, getting in Brian's face outside the market, looking at Brian from the passenger's seat with this—this _thing_ in his eyes that Brian had felt fucking _examined_ under, saying simply _smoke him_—made Brian just hit the gas. And Brian—he'd found a place in the Toretto family—based on lies but—well, really just the one lie, everything else had been—knew Dom was the guy he was looking for but convinced his bosses—_himself_—that he wasn't, and then when it came down to his job—a thing he'd had for years, knew well, was fucking good at—or Dom—something he'd never had at all—

_Christ_—he doesn't know _what_ to do with all this—doesn't let himself wander here and _fuck_—he's getting close embarrassingly quick. Can feel it—shifts gears as he jerks himself—for one brief moment, allows the thought of—_in his hand_—shuts his eyes even as he's not slowing down—and he boils over, coming in his fucking jeans with a shudder that makes him swerve, the jolt bringing him back, finally easing off the gas pedal.

**iii.  
but he loves you**

_Full pardons for everyone_—too good to be true, but it came at a price. Gisele, and now Han—even Brian seemed gone, was somebody else, at least til 1327 went up. He was supposed to be worried about Jack and Mia—and of course he _was_, but—Dom can see a shift. He isn't _just_ worried, isn't _just_ accepting that he has to track this fucker down so the whole team doesn't die—he's ready to do it. _Wants_ to. Restless in the minivan, skin itching like it was staying vigilant right to his nerves and waiting for the very moment he gets to be Brian O'Conner again.

"I gotta go to Tokyo. Bring Han home."

"I'll come with you," Brian says instantly—was always so fucking eager.

"No," Dom replies, deep and authoritative, "I can do this alone. Stay here and wait for me."

Brian looks like what he'd look like if he'd been hit by a truck—hurt, certainly, but more importantly, absolutely incensed.

"What the fuck? We've always done this shit together and now you just expect me to hang back and let you take care of it?"

"Yeah, I do."

And Dom—he knows why he can't let Brian come with him, but he also knows why he can't tell Brian the reason. _That needs to come from Mia_—but his categorical denial with seemingly no reason at all only infuriates Brian more, which Dom knew it would.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me—_stay here and wait for you?_ I'm not your fucking wife, Dom!"

That hits a nerve—because right now, _no one's_ his wife—but he tries to absorb his own anger to focus on calming Brian down instead. Puts his hands on his shoulders to steady him as he's already starting to wind up—knows he's getting heated, and when he makes his hands into fists—knows he wants to fight. Dom's bigger but—if O'Conner wanted to brawl, something unleashed in him, and he's able to wrangle free of Dom's grip. A terrible thing—sharp and excited—flashes in his eyes before he throws a punch at an unprepared Dom, who falls backward into the minivan as Brian's mouth twists up into a smile's darker twin. Brian's his friend—_his brother_—but he's never backed down from a fight and he's never lost one either. Even Brian won't disrupt that—even if Dom's going to try not to inflict a lot of lasting damage.

_Come on, Toretto—don't fucking take it easy on me_—because of course he knows what Dom's doing—_I can beat you fair and square, just like on the road_. And when Dom turns it up at that—_yeah_, he is holding his own, Dom can feel bruises blooming as the proof. He wants to stop, though, because this isn't calming him down at all—revving him up more, actually—but Brian won't let him—keeps just taking what Dom gives him, getting just enough hits in to keep it going. Has got this manic fucking smile on his face as Dom rails into him and—_Oh._

"Jesus, O'Conner," as he pulls back and sits on the floor of the garage, leaning against the minivan. "I'm not gonna fuckin' kill you 'cause that's your idea of a good time."

"You weren't killing me" is all Brian says, then he shuffles over next to him.

"Yeah I was."

"I could have killed you," like that isn't the most fucked-up response to the already fucked-up situation, but—maybe he could have—was clearly looking for the first opportunity to let—_this_ loose again. Brian didn't ride with fear in his eyes, he rode wild and ecstatic and chased after the things Dom only did 'cause he had to—and that was good to have on your side, sure, but you couldn't control it and you sure as hell couldn't predict it.

"Yeah well, _don't_. We'll call it a draw—trust me, I don't love it either."

Brian lets out a long and deep sigh before _Dom, I_—trails off, maybe is thinking about how to phrase it, but—_yeah, I know, Brian_—because he _does_ know Brian, knows him _too_ well. The way he could run on pure adrenaline, but keeps that pressure valve closed—like denying it makes it untrue—until it can't do anything but burst. Dom knows he loves Mia and Jack—is gonna love the next one too—but he also knows there's a part of him that cracks and sizzles like lightning, that will always love a good storm.

_Fuck, Dom_—and he doesn't have a response to that. Brian's foot taps irregularly against his leg, still twitchy from the fight. The beginning of a shiner's starting to appear on his right eye—_whoops_—and Dom feels an ache in his jaw that tells him he's wearing matching red. _It'd be easier if_—he thinks immediately and horribly. _It'd be easier if a lot of things_.

Everything's easier to settle behind the wheel—probably why Dom prefers to solve it there over anywhere else. But not every problem can be translated to the road—never mind when the problem _is_ the road. Dom lets his head fall back and hit the minivan, closes his eyes.

"I'm going to Tokyo without you, Brian," he finally says. "You needa get Mia somewhere safe. Gonna need you when I get back, though. Whoever did this has gotta pay."

_Nobody messes with family_—they both say automatically. Dom's chest tightens.

"Shit's gonna get crazy again," and Dom can tell Brian's doing everything he can to force his tone into something almost sorry-shaped—but Dom hears it lilt just so into thrill. He chuckles—_yeah, I think it is, you up for another ride_—and Brian's face is just—_he's_ not going to kill him for a good time, is even going to make damn sure he doesn't _get_ killed for a good time, but Dom can't stop Brian—he's always going to charge headfirst into danger like it's fucking fun, and it really doesn't matter that he's—if he could have stopped Brian from doing _anything_, he'd probably have stopped him from doing a lot of things. But all he can do is ride next to him and try to play defense.

"_Brian_—seriously. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone," like that's going to work.

Then suddenly—Brian lunges at him—Dom thinks he's going to try to start the fight up again—_goddamnit Bri—you're a headcase, you know tha_—but then he's in his lap, shoving his tongue in Dom's mouth and grinding down desperate. _O'Conner, what the fuck are you_—when he can get a word in edgewise, but Brian's looking at him like—like—he could spark and catch fire—warm against Dom, familiar, heat building in excitement as he careens into the unknown with that damn smile on his face—_just gonna do something stupid now then_ he says around this laugh—sunny and blithe, an undertow of something heavier—like this is _absolutely_ something stupid, but maybe he didn't get the idea to do it just now.

He's got one hand running down Dom's side, another hand flat on the door right next to Dom's ear. Eyes growing dark even as Dom tries to say _Brian—Brian, Brian, Brian_—like his own name would be what could stop him as he paws at Dom's shirt and pants, a hand on each—doesn't help that it's coming out low and throaty, betraying its intentions. Brian feels good on top of him—and if he's going to surge forward into everything, fast and sharp like a sword—well, Dom just wraps an arm around him that, even dipping low, can be a shield.

They're both getting hard, panting into each other's mouths and hands roaming over clothes like they could burn through them to feel skin, but they're not gonna fuck on the floor of the garage—_probably_, Dom thinks as Brian rolls his hips into his own and makes this urgent noise like maybe they _are_ going to fuck on the floor of the garage. But then he's fumbling with—_God, with the door of the fucking minivan—that's where Brian thinks they're gonna_—still can't work the damn door, but Dom cuts him some slack for being a little preoccupied with his mouth. Although—Dom reaches up and manages to easily get a grip on the handle and pull, door sliding open when he lets go.

_Oh, fuck you_—Brian mumbles, but before he can get too indignant, Dom grasps at Brian's thighs to hold him up and picks them both up off the floor. _Holy shit_—Brian breathes out and tries to wrap himself closer around him, get friction on his dick against Dom's stomach. He puts a hand on the door that isn't open, somehow pushes Dom against the side even though he's the one holding Brian around his goddamn waist. Bites and sucks at his neck, saying shit like _fuck, Toretto—can just fucking lift me up—you wanna get on me like this—wanna fuck you_—trying to push them both into the backseat—_of the goddamn minivan_—and this is—he knows he shouldn't—too many reasons, _too many fucking reasons_—but he can't even remind himself of them, is already leaning back to let Brian crawl off and over him, pull him in and on his lap. Lick a stripe along his jaw and into his mouth, dirty and hungry—like he wants to taste Dom _now_ and can't wait, running a palm along his cock and lets Dom roll into it—_yeah, give it to me Dom_.

He gets his pants open and a grip on him—sighs out like he's got a hold on his own dick, _God_—brings his hand to his mouth to lick it and spit in it, still rough when he jacks him—_come on Dom_—and _fuck_—wants to blame cars like they set them off—and they do—but they don't finish them. _You like me getting you slick—you want me to get you slick and fuck you_—he's murmuring filthy in Dom's ear, and that's—Dom's not in the driver's seat, not even in the passenger's seat—if this even _is_ about driving, it's just as much about—_I almost had you_ echoes in Dom's head, Brian's cool, easy voice—as he's trying to pull Dom's pants over his hips, even as he's sitting in his lap.

"Off" he says, hoarse but demanding—tugging at Dom's pants so he knows exactly what he means, lifting his hips so Dom'll get up. Once he does, Brian's sliding his own jeans down and reclining the seat, practically whipping his t-shirt off. He's flushed down his chest, all lean wiry muscles—a _golden boy_ with blue eyes and a tan, pretty and stroking himself. Eyeing Dom like he could eat him or rip him open and crawl inside. _God_—it makes Dom want to—he never has, but—_fuckin' O'Conner_. Gets down on his knees on the floor in front of Brian—_yeah—you wanna, Dom_—pushes his hips forward, his cock towards Dom.

He closes his mouth around Brian—a warm weight that jerks and twitches, Brian's head falling back and his hand wrapping around the back of Dom's neck—_yeah, Dom—fuck_—hips rolling so he can buck into Dom's mouth. He chokes a little—can _really_ feel the punch Brian got in on his jaw now—and his fingers grasp each of Brian's thighs—deceptively strong underneath his hands. _Want me to fuck you—want to, Dom_—and the question's been settling in him since Brian first said it, certainly didn't _think_ he'd ever want—but it's _Brian_, and he can try to say otherwise—like denying it makes it untrue—but a long- and deep-buried truth is that when O'Conner's in the seat next to him, he wants to step on the gas and hurtle off whatever precipice is in front of them, laughing as they fly. So—

_Yeah_—he finally says—_yeah I fuckin' do_, Brian hauling him back into his lap to messily kiss him while also trying to reach over and feel around in the door side pocket for something. _You keep lube in your goddamn minivan, O'Conner_—he laughs and Brian huffs out _Jesus—no, Toretto_—his hand pulling back with a tub of vaseline. Dom rolls his eyes—they're fucking adults and they're about to fuck with vaseline in the backseat of a car in a garage. It's all so absurd—even as Dom's hips jerk when Brian presses a finger inside him. _Dom—shit_—another finger—_look at you, letting me open you up_—a third, really working him, and Dom didn't think he'd want it, but _shit_—he _wants_ it—making these sounds he's never fucking heard from himself before. Brian nodding with approval, breath coming stifled and quick—_yeah—yeah—getting deep inside you—fuck, yeah_—Dom thinks they could both lose it before they get it, always itching dumb chaos together—_only one who's seen you like this—fuck—you're mine—gonna fuck you so good, Dom_.

Brian slicks himself up, groans running a hand over himself—pushes into Dom as Dom lowers onto him. His voice shakes—_fuck Toretto, you're_—until he just trails off, mouth hanging open. Dom—he's—_fuck_, it's like he's being split open by Brian—sharp and devastating and _so fucking good_—balancing over him and feeling the ache in his thighs, Brian grabbing at them high to push and pull him up and down where he wants him. _Godfuck—you're so tight—Dom_—he keeps saying—wrecked and exhilarated—like he doesn't even need the car between them—looks at Brian and sees his eyes wild like there still _is_ a car between them. Like this—cramped in the backseat of his fucking minivan, going to fucking town on Dom hard and fast—is giving him the same rush as any car. _Oh._

_It'd be easier if a lot of things_—but Dom can't stop Brian, and _fuck_—he doesn't want to. That's another buried truth—_this_ is the Brian Dom loves best—insane and up for anything. Fucking him and jerking him off roughly, whole body humming like a V8, head thrown back, throat exposed—_I'm not gonna fuckin' kill you 'cause that's your idea of a good time_—but Dom's too tempted and he _knows_ Brian—knows what he wants—knows how to pull up right to the edge, where's he's always trying to go.

Wraps a big hand around Brian's neck—eyes wide and practically alight when he realizes what Dom's doing—begins to tighten his grip—_come on, Toretto—don't fucking take it easy on me_—squeezes harder and feels Brian—somehow both wrenching against his hand and yielding underneath him. Then he can't talk anymore—just letting out these quick breathy sounds that shoot straight to Dom's dick—has a lazy hold on him that grasps tighter when Dom does, like an echo of what he's doing to Brian on his own cock. It's hot, but there isn't enough pressure on him—he can feel it, going to come soon with just a little bit more—covers Brian's hand with his own and strokes faster—Brian feebly moaning under him at the sight—_Dom_—he rasps out, high and faint—_yeah—do it_—barely audible as Dom works himself and comes—both grips tightening, and Brian fucking _convulses_ beneath him, comes inside him with this choked sob like it's been torn out of him and—_Jesus_, Dom thinks he could go again.

_Fuck, Dom_—and he still doesn't have a smart response to that, so he just says _ya know, Brian, you already did_.

**interlude.**  
_and you feel like you've done something terrible,_  
_like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills,_  
_or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired._

**iv.  
you're in a car with a beautiful boy**

He knew Dom was going to be upset when he found out—even knew he was going to find out eventually, but it's a surprise all the same to feel his hands around his neck, eyes dark with rage. They weren't anything close to back where they were—_before_, but they'd found some semblance of cooperation, at least for the time-being and their mutual interest in Braga. But this threw a wrench back in between them—_just another secret you kept from him_—and Dom isn't pulling any punches as he pushes Brian to the ground and lunges for him.

Mia's yelling in the background, and Brian knows he should stop, not just for her, but he feels his hackles raise on instinct—can't back down from a fight, never could, and certainly isn't going to against Dom. Wraps his legs around him to keep Dom from straddling him and immediately getting the upper hand. Brian's got to be quicker, because he can't be bigger, and he's keeping up with him until Dom just stands up with Brian still around his waist and throws him back down on the ground—knocking the wind out of him, getting right back into his face, and he can't anymore—Dom might actually kill him, eyes wild and unhinged.

"She did it for you, Dom!" and Dom freezes, finally, as Brian explains. He can feel Dom soften, literally feel the fight draining out of him, and eventually, he just gets up and walks away, leaving Brian kicking at furniture and yelling _I'm sorry Dom—I'm sorry_ in vain.

Mia still has a look of shock on her face, but is composed enough to start clearing the table in silence. He looks at her pleadingly, but she says nothing—even looks away from him, focuses intently on the dishes. So he follows Dom out to the garage, ignoring that he knows he needs space, needs time, wants to get them back on the track they were on—heading to where they had been.

"I don't wanna talk to you," Dom says as soon as he walks in, which Brian expected. He just keeps heading toward the Charger where Dom's tooling around under the hood, mindless work so he can swirl around in his head, no doubt. Brian hovers behind him, unsure how to be useful, because Dom may have once hired him to be a mechanic but he's never let him touch his own cars.

Finally, he says _torque wrench_ and extends his arm back with an open palm. Brian can't grab it fast enough, metal clanging against each other in his hurry, which makes Dom laugh under his breath. Okay, if that's what will wring some of the tension out, so be it. They settle into a rhythm—Dom growling out what he needs, Brian fetching it and ignoring the prickling at the base of his spine, the heat building in him low at Dom's deep voice, the way the air is beginning to smell like the salt of sweat alongside the sharp tang of oil—the way the two of them, always, are riding on a knife's edge.

"You good?" Dom asks—clearly sensing—_whatever_ this is—as he's dropping the hood closed, and Brian swings his head towards him and runs right into the tool chest that's come unlocked and rolled into his path. He feels like an idiot, but Dom just stares and laughs at him, earnest and real, until he walks over to him and outstretches a hand to help him up. Brian smiles and wraps his fingers around Dom's forearm, his own encircled by Dom's big hand.

"Dom, I..." _but what is he supposed to say?_ He's sorry? For what—crashing into his life? Letty made choices, just like he and Dom made choices.

"Yeah, I know. You're just gonna have to let me be mad at you for this for a little while," with a tone that's somewhere between solemn and wry. They still haven't let go of each other's arms. Suddenly, he wants to say a lot of things, he wants to settle this with a race, he wants to punch Dom in the face, he wants to just grab him and—

He's gripping Dom's arm hard and both of their breathing is getting heavier as time feels suspended. Maybe it'd be easier if there wasn't—_this_ between them, atmosphere always thick, respect and animosity alike lingering. Dom was supposed to have just been another mark for Brian, but they're under each other's skin now.

"Dom," he starts again, "she wanted you to be able to come home. I—we both wanted you to."

Dom finally pulls his arm away with a caustic _really_.

"Yeah!" Brian says, exasperated, "Yeah I did! Of course I did, Dom. I gave you a fucking car."

"You owed me a fucking car."

"I didn't have to give you a car, Dom, I was a cop."

"Yeah, I noticed. Still are, too, and if I'm not mistaken, you've somehow been promoted."

Brian sighs and seriously considers punching him. Even clenches his hand into a fist before realizing how stupid the idea is—but not before Dom notices.

"Gonna hit me, _O'Conner?_" he says with an emphasis, strange and cruel—like he wants to remind Brian that he thinks he doesn't really know him. "Is it easier to just beat your problems?"

"I don't know, Dom. _Is_ it?" comes out before he can stop himself, and Dom reaches out and grabs him by the collar, spins him around so his back hits the grille with a _thud_. His eyes are closed, but he feels knuckles connect with his nose, feels blood pour out, can taste the metallic copper on his tongue. _Yeah, that's Dom—Yeah, I deserved that_—he thinks with a deranged, bloody smile and he opens his eyes to meet Dom's, tries to pierce through all the armor by confusing the shit out of him.

Can't say anything now, can't get in a car, can't punch him—_well, that just leaves_—Brian reaches out and pulls Dom close, kisses him point-blank, mouths sliding against one another because of Brian's bloody nose. Dom stops—but he doesn't stop Brian, who can tell he doesn't know what to do here—_what the fuck_—they could ask questions and give excuses, but is this not what this is? Every taunt, every race, every time he gave—is gonna give—him a chance to get away. Rolls his hips into Dom's and grabs a handful of the back of his undershirt, slips his tongue into Dom's mouth, thinks of every moment with him at 150 miles per hour and starts getting hard against him, feels him getting hard too and _finally_ kissing back.

Brian teases his fingers underneath Dom's shirt to feel hard muscle beneath soft skin, dips them below his waistband. Dom's got one hand on the hood and the other running through his—now short—hair. _Liked it better when it was longer—woulda given me something to pull_ he mutters into his mouth, and Brian can't stop the way his hips jerk forward and his head falls back—hasn't necessarily thought about Dom grabbing him by the hair, but—the desire is suddenly there, wants to be—to be—_collared, God—like a fuckin' criminal_—can hear Mia saying _he owns you now_. Dom laughs around the _yeah, you'd like that wouldn't you—like me pulling you around_—but there's still a sharp intake of breath when Brian sighs out a _yeah—yes_, and he can't get Brian's t-shirt off quicker, can't turn him around so his cock grinds up against the grille, flatten his big hand on Brian's back and bend him over the hood faster.

"Gonna fuck you, _O'Conner_," that low voice thrums out—still fucking saying his name like that—right in his ear, as Dom pops the buttons on both of their pants deftly, reaching one hand into Brian's to get a grip on him, and Brian—_fuck_, can't stop himself from trying to back into Dom's hips and buck into his hand.

He looks over his shoulder to see Dom pulling his pants down, his dick big and hard, his eyes dark, looking at him with this filthy smile that Brian returns. Like they're out on the road, like all that matters is the next quarter mile.

"_Yeah_—you gonna _take me there_," he rasps, spits blood with a grin, and Dom has to get a grip on himself at that, roughly pull Brian's jeans and briefs down in one swift motion, push Brian so his cheek hits the hood—between a violent engine and Dom—perhaps right where he belongs.

Dom reaches into the tool chest and Brian somehow wasn't expecting lube in any of the drawers—well, lube for this, anyway—but—okay, yeah, Dom's definitely fucked in his garage before. Certainly Letty, maybe—

_Gonna own you_—he whispers, and Brian feels a slick finger slide inside him and—_God fuck, how'd he know—how'd he fucking know_—pushing another finger in, and another, stretching him open as he keeps fucking saying _I own you, O'Conner—you're mine_.

Brian's going to lose it before he even gets it, hearing Dom, feeling his dick against his ass as he fucks him with his hand, bites at the scruff of his neck.

"_God Dom_—are you _going_ to fuck me?" he asks, practically demands, and Dom pulls his fingers out.

"You gonna ask nicely?" Dom says, staring at Brian white-knuckling the hood.

"_No_" Brian answers, doesn't want to give in first. But Dom hastily pushes three fingers back inside him without warning, and Brian fucking _whines_ and slaps the hood, growls against aluminum and steel like he's the engine underneath. Dom shakes—wants to play it off like he's pulsing his fingers in Brian, but Brian knows. They're both hot and keyed up.

"You gonna _beg_?" he says around an unsteady breath, grabbing at Brian's hip with his other hand, hard and pressing against him—telling him it's okay to.

_Dom—Dom please—pleaseplease_—coming undone beneath Dom. Keening back onto him—and then Dom's pushing into him, hot and tight—cock grazing the hood and _God_—it's gonna be too much, hemmed in by cool metal and warm skin. Brian screws his eyes shut and just lets himself get plastered across the hood, Dom fucking him open with his hand on his neck—thumb reaching up and rubbing—spreading blood—along his jaw.

"_Mine_, O'Conner," he repeats as he drives into him relentlessly, pistoning his hips, "I _own_ you now," like he fucking hasn't since Brian handed him the goddamn keys to the Supra.

"Yeah—_yeah—own me_—fucking taking it from you, Toretto—give it to me—_yours_, Dom," Brian sputters out half-phrases, riding high, delirious as Dom pounds everything else out of him and all he feels is adrenaline building in the base of him, like he could rip someone open when he finally comes.

Dom pulls him up from the hood and wraps his arm around Brian's chest, pressed flush against each other covered in sweat, other hand getting a grip on him and stroking his dick. Roughly kisses his neck as he says low, _'m I takin' you there, O'Conner—gonna come for me now_ and it isn't a question, so he does—clenches around Dom and brings him with him—them both tumbling forward back onto the hood, so fucked-out they have to lie there just like that and catch their breath, Dom's lips pressed heavily against his shoulder blade.

Brian walks on a slant into the office the next morning, new bruises scratching against crisp fabric underneath his shirt collar—as calm and sated as he can remember being recently.

**v.  
and you're trying not to tell him that you love him**

"One last job," Dom had said, like maybe he'd believed it.

Now, they were gunning it with a safe between them, crashing through anything in its path like a wrecking ball. He looks over and Brian's looking back—eyes wicked and easy—up for anything because _why not_. Smiling like he's having the time of his life.

When it's all said and done, them somehow in the clear (or at least, on the run with a head start), Brian's still got that look on his face, like he could—_would_—do anything, and residual adrenaline thrums in his veins. They're leaning against the side of the car, just trying to will their breaths to steady, but his foot still taps erratically, leg jittering against Dom's. Dom spins on a heel to cage him in between the car and his arms, wants to calm him down, but when their eyes meet, Brian's seem even more feral—red-rimmed, dead tired, sparkling like a junkie who's found a high. Before Dom can even try to suss out _what_—let alone _why_, ignoring that he already knows why, he always knows why—Brian grabs his head and pulls him toward him—kisses him like it's something they do—something they _can_ do—

Brian practically purrs into his mouth, needy and grasping at his shirt almost immediately, trying to shuck it with one hand as the other fumbles at his own jeans. He doesn't say anything except _DomDomDom_ into his mouth, somehow pleading and ordering at the same time, and—_fuck it_—they were heading to this, hurtling towards it flat on the gas pedal in a car with no breaks. Dom pushes the hand working on his jeans away to pop the button and slide down the zipper himself, stripped of his shirt now that Brian has two hands to work with—pawing at his pants dumb and hungry, finally gets them open.

They're both hard already—the ride helping them get there fast—heads spinning with all the blood rushing to their dicks, and Brian bites at Dom's bottom lip, licks into his mouth, hips grinding out into the air trying to find Dom's. Dom pushes him back against the car—sharp inhale alongside the _thud_—and cants toward him, pulls both their shorts down to get a grip on them—but not before he sees Brian laying against the car—_his own car_, like he belongs right there, like this, always—dirty, hair disheveled, pupils blown and dark, mouth wrecked and red, chest rising and falling fitfully. It's somehow easier to look at his dick, thick and stiff on his chest, pink and already leaking. _Fuck, O'Conner_.

He's got both cocks in his hand, heavy and hot and _so good_, and Brian wraps a leg around his calf to get him closer—both of them humming against each other. His calloused hand runs along Brian's sensitive head suddenly and he flings his head back as his entire body rolls up from his hips. His pale throat exposed—well, that's just too tempting to Dom. He starts with nips at his collarbone, moves to his neck where he really bites—sucks—tongues sloppy and wet. Murmurs against his skin, _wanna fuck you, Brian_—Brian trembles, Dom can see him scrambling for purchase against the doors futilely, and there it is—the truth that's always been there, unspoken. _Gonna open you up and get so deep inside you you're mine_—and Brian groans like a rough engine, leg around Dom pulling tighter like it's what's keeping him standing up.

Dom speeds up his rhythm on them and he knows he—they're both not going to last much longer. Brian looks at him—like he looks at him through car windows on the road, savage and pleased—with a slack jaw that's tumbling out heavy pants. _Christ, he's—yeah, he's beautiful_—Dom thinks abruptly, a thought he's somehow had many times, even if it wore different words. Brian nods at him—an affirmation, a provocation, and an unraveling all in one—and that's it for Dom, he's coming with a jerk of his hips, stroking faster even though he's sensitive, trying to bring Brian to the edge with him. Flush spreading down Brian's neck and chest, breath shortening—_y-yeah—yeah, Dom—God Fuck_—short, shallow strokes near the head, fast and slick with his come—Brian wraps his arm around Dom, clawing at his back desperately, bucking into his hand—twists his wrist and—_yeah, fuck_—Brian's whole body wrenches around when he comes, fizzles like live wire as he can only make these soft whines that bury themselves underneath Dom's skin.

"That was fun," Brian says around his smile, right into Dom's ear.

"What?" Dom asks incredulously but amused, as he leans back—still close though, still letting Brian keep his leg hooked around him. "This or making off free and clear with a cool 100 mil?"

He gestures and realizes his hand is pretty gross and goes to wipe it off on his jeans—Brian catches his wrist before he can.

"Both. Together," he says simply, with a shrug that's fucking boyish charming like it's obvious. He brings Dom's hand to his mouth, licks flat up his palm—up his fingers—then sucks around three of them, taking them into his mouth. Dom gives a shaky breath at the sight, but tries to push them in even further—just to test him. Brian takes them deeper, hollows his cheeks around them immediately, like he's—

_Fuck, Bri_—and he pulls off with a wet pop, looking up at him through long lashes with his devilish grin.

Dom laughs and shakes his head, says "you're fuckin' crazy, O'Conner, you know that?"

Instead of answering, Brian wraps his arms around him and slides his hands into Dom's back pockets to roll his hips up. Their dicks—even going soft—touch and it feels electric. Brian stares right at him, hooded eyes still wild underneath everything else, to say, "now what was that you said about fucking me?"

_Jesus, yeah_—and Dom fists his hair to pull him in and kiss him fiercely.

**vi.  
and you're trying to choke down the feeling**

"You're lucky this door's between us."

Braga turns his head and nods and the bars roll open as his thugs brandish shivs. For a brief moment, Brian's nervous—he doesn't know what the fuck's about to happen and it's three against one. But then Braga says "what happened to Letty is on your head" and something in him snaps—punches Braga in the face, lets loose on the other two. He catches a slice, but he can only tell from the blood running down his back—he can't feel anything except rage, lighting him up from the inside and pouring out through his hands as they punch and grab and slam and break—for survival, for anger, for the reason Braga said—what he's been saying to himself. He stands over Braga with one of the shivs as he tells him he won't do it—_don't fucking tell me what I won't do_—and he stabs him in the shoulder, thinks maybe after he gets some answers he might kill him. But then he doesn't—can't 'cause the guards come and break them up—and will always have to wonder what he would have done.

Brian gets back to their hideout and is relieved to see the team moving—on to the next phase. _He wasn't going without you_, Gisele says, and his chest goes tight—knowing what he's done to Dom. But Dom doesn't want to know, and Brian isn't sure what to do with that. The warehouse is eerily quiet with no one else but the two of them, standing between two cars like they always seem to be. Brian presses a hand to Dom's chest—still feels like he owes him an explanation even if he doesn't want one.

"Dom, she—it was 'cause of me that she's—and Braga..." he trails off, unable to even figure out how to begin, how to convey how fucking sorry he is for this—all of this, everything of Dom's he's touched and blown apart—but _fuck_, he wants to try. Dom just shakes his head and puts a finger to Brian's lips to stop him from saying any more.

"I told you, that was for you. You don't owe me shit." And when Brian looks at him like _how_, Dom just says, "_Brian_. Your entire life changed when you handed me a set of keys, and every time you could do something to put your life back where it was going, you don't" with a finality that nestles deep in Brian. He's right—he hasn't been the same since he met Dom.

"You've also done shit for me," he retorts, like this is some sort of fucked up, lifelong game of one-upmanship. If it is, he thinks they're both losing.

"Sure, but I'm a criminal," Dom says with a laugh that eases Brian, leaning back against the car. "Come here, man," patting the side, "Breathe a little. No one's going to hound you for 20 minutes."

Brian settles next to him and stretches far back enough to lay his head and shoulders on the roof, lets out an audible exhale. He feels his shirt come untucked and ride up a little.

"So. How was prison?"

He can tell Dom is smiling, so a middle finger is his only answer. Dom chuckles around an _uh-huh_.

"Bet you were a prime cut in there. Probably good you got out in 24 hours."

"Fuck off," he tries to shrug off, but he still tenses up—thinks about all the stares as he was hauled through gen pop, the whistles, the fucking _Blondie_s—nobody even trying to be quiet. It _could_ be longer than 24 hours, with just one screw up, and then—_shit_, they'll all know he was a cop too.

"O'Conner, I'm just messing with you. Brian," he amends, when he notices the change in his body language, "seriously."

"Yeah well, they weren't," Brian says flatly.

And suddenly, Dom's face changes—shifts to something that's somewhere between ire and an open wound—would reflect Brian's own if he was showing anything more than the fury, lips tightened in a neat line. Dom pulls him into his arms and looks like he wants to—but doesn't—thinks he can walk past this like everything Brian is and everything between them is just an eggshell. _Shit—why not—_

Brian goes for it instead—crashes their lips together, a head-on collision, not really sure what the fuck he's doing—just feels good in Dom's arms, against his mouth. Pins Dom's wrists to the side of the car and bites and sucks at his neck, leans his hips into Dom's hoping to feel—_yeah_—it's both of them—even if Dom is breaking free of his grip to place hands on his shoulders. _Brian_—stern-voiced and Brian thinks—_no, not now_—

"Wanna suck your dick, Dom," he whispers lewdly in his ear, uses his now-unoccupied hands to grope at Dom's pants.

"_Brian_," he repeats, and Brian sharply lifts his head to meet Dom's eyes—he wants him to, Brian can tell, but he isn't the one who spent the last day in prison—leered at, ready to kill someone, whole body on overdrive—could do anything right now.

"I want to," Brian says evenly, doesn't look away from him, "I want to, Dom."

He still looks apprehensive as Brian returns to trying to get his pants down. Pulls his shirt off in one fluid motion and murmurs into his chest _I want to do this, Dom—let me do this for you_—and then he must get it, because he's pushing Brian down to his knees—Brian going pliant beneath his big hand as he hits the floor. When he sees Dom's cock, his eyes glass over—it's big and heavy in his hand as he jacks him, _gonna be heavy in his mouth_—and Brian wants to grind into the floor thinking about it. Dom's still saying _Brian_ over and over—but now it's breathed out reverently, his hands flat against the door.

_Dom_—he mutters into his skin, trails his tongue along where his leg and hip connect—and when their eyes meet, he licks up the shaft and takes as much of Dom's dick as he can in his mouth. Forces it in and chokes immediately—_Christ O'Conner—you're gonna hurt us both_—but Brian grins around him, humming, pulling off some but now sucking him off in earnest. It's clumsy—not like he's done this, but Dom just—wants to do it _for Dom, give_ it to him—tonguing the underside, stretching his mouth open—_take him there_.

When Dom's breathing hard and quick, he pulls off him with a wet _slurp_ that's so fucking loud in the empty warehouse. He looks up at him—_you wanna, Dom_—and Dom nods at him, so he just licks up him and then sits back, cheshire smile at Dom swearing and rolling his hips into the air.

_O'Conner—you shit_—but Brian takes him back in his mouth before he can say any more. Takes him further than before, getting closer to the back of his throat, it—doesn't hurt, really, but he can _feel_ it, like surround sound—the only thing he can feel and it's loud and throbbing in his head, and he lets it take over. Sucks hard and chokes on it, head buzzing—hears the _screech_ of Dom's hands sliding across the door, like they're out of control, and Brian likes it.

Pulls off him _again_—still isn't sure what the hell he's doing—just knows every time he stops, Dom loses it a little more underneath him and he wants to chase that. Trapping Dom between his arms against the door—it feels like clutching the wheel, feels like stepping on the gas, and Brian's hard for it—hard for Dom wanting this, wanting _him_. Dom can't stop himself from growling out _suck it O'Conner_ harsh—Brian has to run the heel of his hand over his cock—it should make him feel—feel like walking through that prison—but it _doesn't_. Just makes him take Dom back into his mouth and rev him up again. Reaches a hand in his jeans and gets a grip on himself—_goddamn, finally_. Jerking himself off when he pulls off Dom and says—looking at his cock wet and stiff, at him squeezing his eyes shut—_you really wanna, Dom_—Dom slams a fist into the car that actually leaves a dent as he groans out _Brian, you're pretty but fuck you_. That hits him low and good—_shouldn't_ but—so he decides he's gonna let Dom come, gets his cock in his mouth one last time and starts really bringing him to the edge.

Dom looks down at him again and Brian can feel himself drooling out the side of his mouth, down his chin, thinks he must look—_Jesus Bri—you're—you're—fuck_—as his head thunks against the roof. Runs a hand along the back of Brian's head tentatively—Brian presses his head into his hand further, tries to tell him—grips tighter and pushes Brian down onto his cock, really fucking into his mouth—_yes—yes—Dom God yes—fuck me_—isn't even sure what he actually says out loud, muffled, with Dom echoing him—_can_ hear Dom say _gonna come, O'Conner—you want to_—pulls off him, slick with spit as he strokes him right over the edge—_Brian_ and a slap to the side of the car the only warning when he comes, all over his face, Brian leaning in to just take it.

"Think that was more than 20 minutes," Brian says when he's cleaned up and leaning against the car next to Dom again—curling into his chest as they laugh.

**vii.  
and you're trembling but he reaches over and he touches you**

Brian's retiring.

Dom knew he would—knew he would when Mia told him about their girl anyway—but he's tight in his chest watching them on the beach, even wanting him to get out of this, wanting him to be the father he's promised to be. Nobody with a—well, with a family like that—should be doing this. Not that Dom's is any less _real_, but they found each other _because_ of what they do—Brian did too, and that's the thing that pulls him apart. He deserves more, but Dom still feels like Brian belongs right next to him—feels like he'd be there as long as he could imagine another crazy stunt he'd need him for.

"Thought you could leave without saying goodbye?" rings out and his smile is easy—still has the wicked in the corners, like he _could_ do anything but finally might not. Still might though.

Dom laughs and revs his engine—one final challenge.

"Oh, you think you can beat me too?" and they take off down the road, holding nothing back.

They're both flooring it and it's hard to say who crosses the finish first—maybe they do at the same time—both of them laughing manic and looking at each other not the road ahead. There's something in Brian's eyes now that's—not unfamiliar, Dom's seen him hot and high behind the wheel before, but there's something else there too—heavier and aimed squarely at Dom, and maybe it's always been there—in every look—but Dom's just finally figured out what it means.

Brian nods his head towards off the road and pulls off to ride into someplace secluded. Skitters to a halt as Dom follows and parks next to him. Barely gets his seatbelt off before he sees Brian scramble out of his car and into the backseat of Dom's. Dom wants to laugh—_O'Conner's always been eager_—until he sees how hard Brian's already breathing, the swelling already in his jeans—with just a race and the _thought_ of this—_has he always thought of_—and he chokes on air as he rushes into the back with him. They fumble stupidly with each other, grinding on each other like they're fucking teenagers, kissing sloppy with teeth and tongues like they're learning how.

Brian arches his back to roll his hips against Dom's, frantic and panting like he could get off like this—like just rutting against Dom in the Charger is enough, and _God_—seeing Brian, spreading his legs to wrap closer around him, hands gripping the door and the seat to angle himself to get friction—could maybe be enough for Dom. He practically rips his jeans open and off, boxers sliding down with them, and Brian's cock slaps against his stomach loudly in the interior—_fuck_, Dom pulls his own pants open just to get a hand on his dick even through thin fabric.

But his hand is batted away, Brian sitting up, nose almost touching his crotch he's so close. He mouths at Dom's cock through the cotton and—_holy shit_, it's not even that—but it _is_—it's Brian, teasing his briefs down to get his mouth on him for real, waistband rubbing against his balls as he sucks him off.

"Fuck" is all he can say as he grabs at the ceiling to steady himself, fucking into Brian's mouth. "Fuck—fuck O'Conner—_Brian_" he trips over his words, can't make sense of anything, his brain's overheated—finally just lets his head fall back and feels all this right to his edges, because he doesn't _need_ to make sense of it, it just makes sense. It always does with them. He swears he can feel Brian smile around him right as he lets go, like he fucking knows or something, like he's enjoying Dom unraveling beneath him. Dom chances a look down and—yeah, he's fucking enjoying it, eyes closed in concentration, jerking himself in time. _Jesus_—he could definitely get off like this but—_wants_ to—wants to finally—

He pulls Brian off him and pushes him to lie back on the seat, getting a grip on him and stroking, Brian doing the same to him. He's going to say something—say _it_—the thing that hangs in the air between them—why they drive harder together—why a ride feels like flying and a quarter mile feels neverending—but before he can, Brian moans into his ear _want you to fuck me, Toretto_. Dom growls back a _yeah_, somehow both an assurance and a question—like he doesn't quite believe what he's heard. And suddenly Brian's voice is oddly soft as _Dom—Dom please—wanted you to fuck me in the Charger since that first race_ tumbles out—and _Christ_—that's—that's _years_—

So Dom obliges. Gets what he needs from the glove compartment and tugs his pants down past his knees, Brian getting his off past his shoes—leaving his fucking sneakers on, _God—it's a good thing you're pretty_, Dom thinks with a chuckle that Brian echoes, shrugs like _can't be bothered_, and starts jerking himself again while staring at Dom getting his fingers slick.

Dom wants to tease, but Brian is trying to fucking mount himself onto his fingers—wraps his legs around Dom's waist and kicks a heel into his back impatiently. Nods with that fucking Brian O'Conner smirk like _yeah—you gonna get on with it_. Dom thinks of all the times he's been eye to eye with that smirk—has probably thought about this, even if he didn't know _what_ he was thinking. Hitting two hundred, Brian whooping like it's a good time—_yeah_, that's what this has always been—Dom's somehow been waiting for exactly this too.

He pushes a finger in, can't stop himself from adding a second one—certainly doesn't help that Brian's sighing out _yeah—yeah Dom_—rolling his hips on him, fumbling and grasping at the door as his head falls back and his back arches. _Give it to me_—Dom can't figure out if stroking himself in a tight grip is actually helping hold himself at the edge—it isn't when Brian wraps his hand around his own, helps jerk him and squeezes both their hands at the head—loosens then tightens at the base—repeats the rhythm until Dom is panting and Brian is saying _fuck me now, Toretto—Dom_—can see him looking around the Charger's interior and screwing his eyes shut like it's all too much. Dom lines himself up and pushes into him and—

Feels like the car sighs around them, Dom getting himself in to the hilt while Brian looks like the cramped backseat holds him in one piece, staying together to clench around Dom hot and tight and meet his gaze. He pulls out languidly, feeling the stretch as Brian's eyes flutter closed, then slams back into him. Brian chokes out _Christ Dom—fuck_—as his cock leaks on his stomach and his hips rock. Fucking him fast—til Dom grabs a leg from around his waist, holds it against his chest and shifts Brian's hips up—angle changed and he gets _deeper_ in him, can hit that spot that has Brian practically singing, these high little noises between raspy pants—skin slapping skin, sliding and sticking to the seat leather—Brian's head pounding against the door as Dom keeps driving into him, nails digging into Dom's arms that are trying to keep his hips still even as they wrench against him. _Fuck—you like that—you like it in my Charger_—and Brian can't stop this choked sound around his desperate _yes_—trying to nod—_yeah Dom—yours_—

Feels like he's fucking a revving engine in an electrical storm until Brian freezes—one last arch of his back and he's coming all over himself—_didn't even fucking need to be touched_—Dom loses it, years of tension built up in him and snapping, and comes inside him.

Done and spent, they're tired but euphoric—open the door to get some fresh air and tumble out, stumbling back into their clothes. Can't stop touching each other—Brian buttoning his pants with shaking hands, Dom pulling Brian's shirt on. They walk around to the front of the car and lean on the hood, just in time to catch the sun going down—fingers brushing against one another's easy, both their breaths finally slowing. Dom looks over at Brian.

"Days gonna feel longer without you."

Brian slides across the hood, swings a leg over Dom's, his arms around Dom's neck, and they both lean forward—mouths meet in something soft and slow, Dom's hands reaching up Brian's shirt and feeling still warm, still damp skin.

"Yeah?" Brian quirks an eyebrow while leaning back, trusting Dom to keep him steady. "You can tell me all about it when you see me again."

**epilogue.**  
_like a prayer for which no words exist,_  
_and you feel your heart taking root in your body,_  
_like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for._  
  
– RICHARD SIKEN, you are jeff

**Author's Note:**

> me before august 11: yeah i enjoy the fast and the furious an appropriate amount and like all hypermasculine action movies, i can certainly see homoerotic undertones  
me now, a Changed Woman, banging pots and pans at 4am: SOME PEOPLE JUST DON'T APPRECIATE GAY ARTHOUSE CINEMA!!!!!
> 
> wow...shout out to noted tumblr fav richard siken for making me go FERAL because if there was ever the perfect fandom for "you're in a car with a beautiful boy" THIS IS IT, BABEY! also please provoke me into waxing lyrical about brian fucking o'conner!! (as if this isn't...already that) man's the most aggressive bottom-ass pisces with a death wish and I'M NOT TAKING QUESTIONS!!!!


End file.
